


Demain, dès l'aube

by Meme_Cracra



Series: Après la pluie [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meme_Cracra/pseuds/Meme_Cracra
Summary: ‘What if you die.’Bringing his free hand to Geralt’s face, Jaskier pushed so their eyes met. The frown did not leave Geralt, his mouth an unhappy moue. ‘Then I’ll come back. I’ll always come back to you.’Or, the worst happens.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Après la pluie [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927360
Comments: 14
Kudos: 288





	Demain, dès l'aube

**Author's Note:**

> Well, inspiration struck I guess, so here is a small one-shot. The title comes from a french poem from Victor Hugo that I invite anyone able to read French to go and read, it's my favorite one ever.  
> It's way more angsty than the other two stories bu I hope you'll still like it :D

The red autumn leaves crushed merilly under their feet as they trudged up the narrow path leading to the keep. Jaskier, bundled up in a heavy coat and a turquoise scarf, was walking in front of him, right behind Lambert. They’d met the other witcher in Ard Carraigh by chance, so they were now all on their way to Kaer Morhen together. It would be Jaskier fourth winter in the witcher keep.

The years since they’d first been there had been good. It was not all roses -he was a witcher, not a golden knight after all- but they’d been good. If life before Jaskier seemed almost a blur to Geralt now, life since they reached this new point in their relationship was a firework. There was the sex of course - lots of it. But nothing else had obviously changed, they still travelled, hunted, sang their way through the continent. They sometimes parted, days or weeks, before meeting up again. But, to Geralt, every moment spent together seemed more. More powerful, more emotional. He felt more alive than ever, all because Jaskier was here.

Lambert and Jaskier were currently engaged in one of their usual bickering contest, walking side by side now that the road winding up the mountain through the forest was wider, when a snapping branch on their left stopped both witchers. Jaskier, used to being attuned to the superior senses of his friends, immediately hushed and looked around. 

For a second, Geralt almost thought they’d overreacted. Then something fell from the tree above him and crushed him to the ground before he could unsheathe his sword. He could hear Jaskier scream and Lambert struggling against another advisory. Pushing up against the dirt, Geralt sent his attacker flying with a well placed aard. Now up, silver sword in hand, Geralt could see that it was bruxae attacking them. Lambert had slashed one down, shielding Jaskier behind his back. The bard had his small silver dagger in hand -a gift Geralt was happy he’d given the bard right now- and gnarled roots were swaying defensively around them, slashing at any bruxae that came near.

Somewhat reassured, Geralt focused on the fight, casting ignis and slaying the vampires attacking him. They were four of them, running circles around him, trying to bite him when they got closer. He took one, two down with wide slashes, sending their heads rolling. He burned another one to a crisp just as Lambert screamed in alert behind him. Geralt tried to turn and go help him but the last bruxa pinned him to the ground. He struggled against it and finally managed to roll them and pierced its heart. Out of breath, the witcher sat down.

‘Geralt ?’

Jaskier’s voice was small, too small. Geralt stood up, looked around. Looking back at it, he could swear his heart stopped beating for a moment.

His lover stood in the middle of bruxae’s corpses, stabbed by branches and roots, swaying. His left hand was up to the side of his neck, pressing down on a rapidly growing red mess. Blood gushed out of the gaping wound, Geralt noted almost absently. 

‘Geralt !’

Lambert’s scream brought Geralt back in the moment, just as Jaskier started falling down. He managed to catch him before he hit the ground and lowered him slowly.

‘It’s alright, it’s gonna be okay Jas, just let me see.’ The words flowed out his mouth without him realising what he was really saying. Lambert was kneeling on Jaskier’s other side, rags in hand, trying to step the flow of blood.

‘I love you.’ Jaskier whispered between two ragged breaths. Blood painted his mouth red, dotted his lips when he coughed wetly. He grabbed weakly at Geralt’s hand, eyes never leaving his. ‘I love you.’

‘Shut up and let me see Jas !’ Lambert lifted the rag just as Geralt took Jaskier’s hand out of the way. The wound was deep. The artery had been slashed open. Geralt saw it all, knew what it meant but didn’t realise all it implied before he saw Lambert’s crushed look.

‘No, no, no.’ Maybe Swallow would help. It could be poisonous to humans, but Jaskier wasn’t really human was he. He crushed Jaskier’s hand in his, trying to think. If only he could just think for a minute, he was sure he would find something. But the white noise ringing in his ears, the dizziness that gripped his head prevented any coherent thought from forming. All he could do was look at Jaskier’s slowly dimming eyes as he bled out in his arms. 

Plants grew frantically around them, without Geralt noticing, sprouting from the ground, swaying an instant and dying the next, replaced by another, repeating the cycle again and again. 

Geralt kept on speaking to Jaskier, though he could not recall what he said. I love you, most likely. Stay with me, for sure. He did not stop until Lambert laid a hand on his shoulder. Geralt realised then that Jaskier’s heart had stopped beating.

The white noise grew bigger, eclipsing everything else. A vice crushed his lungs and he looked blindly in front of him. He could feel hands on his face, hear a distant voice through the haze. He managed to focus on the face in front of his. 

Lambert, sweet little Lambert, who always hid behind harsh words and violence, who always looked up to his older brothers, was now trying to help despite his own panic. Pale as a ghost, covered in blood -Jaskier's blood his mind provided unhelpfully- Lambert was cradling his face, speaking soft nonsense to try and get him to breath, just breath Geralt.

It took an immense effort to take in a shaky breath. He tried to synchronise his breathing with Lambert’s but did not really manage. After a few minutes, his brother’s voice broke through the shamble of his thoughts.

‘It’s gonna be okay Geralt, he’s Spring, he’ll come back to you, it’s okay.’

Looking down at the white face and unseeing eyes of his lover, Geralt’s mind couldn’t fully believe what Lambert was reminding him. Jaskier’s blood felt real on his hands, the silence in his chest definitive. But slowly, the idea grew and took hold.

‘We have to bury him until spring.’ He croaked, voice breaking on every word. Holding Jaskier against his chest, he stood up, unsteady. Single minded, he walked into the forest, Lambert’s hands bracing him, guiding him. They broke through the trees into a small meadow. From here they could see the keep in the distance, less than a day’s travel. Geralt’s legs buckled and he was left on his knees, Lambert’s support the only thing holding him up. 

Slowly, delicately, he laid Jaskier down. He brushed his hair out of his face and, hand shaking, closed his eyes. Geralt bent down and brushed a -not last, there would be others, there had to be- kiss against his lips. He sat up and waited, frozen, unable to do anything else.

Lambert gasped softly next to him. Vines had started to grow around Jaskier’s ankles and waist, dragging him under the soft earth. Grass pushed from the ground, immediately covering the disturbed dirt in green. Geralt only had an instant to take a last look at his friend’s face before it too disappeared, swallowed by the earth. There was only a patch of green grass left to indicate the resting place.

Geralt could not tear his eyes away from it. Lambert’s arms around him never left but still he felt cold, numb. When his brother tried to get him to stand up, he growled. When Lambert insisted, he whimpered, unashamed by the tears rolling on his cheeks. Sometimes later Geralt couldn’t tell how long, Lambert stood up, draped furs around Geralt shoulders and left him there. He did not really notice it though and kept his eyes on the ground. 

Night had fallen when a hand came to rest on the back of his neck.

‘Stand up wolf.’

Vesemir’s voice was soft but firm. Geralt obeyed, as he had always obeyed every of his teacher’s commands.

‘We are going back to the keep. There, you will rest.’

Geralt nodded. The simple orders helped him to make sense of what was happening. He still couldn't think clearly but he could follow these instructions. He looked behind him to the green patch as long as he could while they walked back to the road. Lambert held Roach’s reins when Geralt mounted her. He then handed him Jaskier’s lute, holding it up preciously. Geralt grabbed at it and hugged it against him the whole way to the keep.

Geralt did not remember much of that night. They moved slowly, their way only illuminated by the full moon. The sun had risen on the horizon when they arrived. Eskel was standing at the gate, waiting anxiously. He helped Geralt down from his horse, and led him inside. The haze never left him throughout the bath his brother gave him, scrubbing off the blood that covered him. It was still there when he guided him to his own bedroom, where Lambert was waiting for them. 

Eskel guided him down on the bed and his two brothers laid down next to him. They hadn’t done that since they were little kids, since before the trials. Vesemir came into the room and tucked them under heavy blankets before sitting down in the chair in front of the fire.

Surrounded by his family, Geralt still felt the emptiness left where Jaskier should be. Exhausted, he allowed slumber to drag him down and wished for it to keep him till spring. 

The following days, Geralt barely left the room. He stayed in bed most of the time, trying and failing to will his body to keep on sleeping the winter away. There was always another witcher with him. They didn’t speak much but their presence stopped Geralt’s mind from spiralling into despair. Lambert and Eskel kept on reminding him that Jaskier would come back and, though Geralt still had a hard time believing it fully, images of Jaskier’s dead body plaguing him every time he closed his eyes, he clung to this belief like a lifeline. 

When he accepted that he would not be able to stay unconscious until spring, Geralt left the bed and roamed the keep, running from chores to chores, training until he collapsed, unthinking. He tried to make the days go faster, always finding something to do so that he wouldn’t have to look at the empty space next to him, wouldn’t have to listen to the silence following him wherever he went. Vesemir did not stop him from doing so but he intervened when Geralt took it too far, when his hands started bleeding around the handle of his sword.

The old witcher would clean his blisters and bandage them, just as he had when he was only a boy. Those evenings, they would all sit on the rug in front of the fire in the main hall and Vesemir would read to them from his chair. Geralt often laid his head against Vesemir’s knee, listening to them speaking to one another, unable to partake in the conversation but soothed by the noise. 

One day, Geralt went to the library to put away a book he’d tried and failed to read. Looking out the balcony, he stopped. Far away, almost on the horizon line, was the meadow where Jaskier rested. It was covered in snow now, just a white speck in the distance but it was there. Geralt went out on the balcony, sat down against the banister and stayed there, watching. 

Eskel found him there later. He sat down next to him, a comforting support. 

‘Tell me about him.’

Geralt had diligently tried not to think about Jaskier, not to think about how big a hole his absence left in his life right now. He’d tried so much that he realised now that he could not remember clearly how his laugh sounded anymore. It frightened him more than he could say and he looked frantically in his memory for the last time he’d hear him chuckle. 

He started talking, bringing up memories of his smile, his warmth, his love. Eskel asked about their travel, urged him on whenever Geralt stopped, pushing for more. It helped, Geralt could remember better now, the sweetness of his kisses and the ring of his voice. It hurt in a bittersweet way but Geralt clutched to it, refused to forget or to let go once more. These were all too precious to forget and he kept on talking late into the evening. He’d started crying sometime along the way but it felt good, like purging a festering wound. Lambert and Vesemir joined them and brought whitegull, cheeses and breads to share. 

They laughed with him when he told them of that time Jaskier had climbed a tree faster than light, terrified by a spider that had nested in their pack. They patted his shoulder when he recalled that way Jaskier would bandage his wounds after a hunt, careful and loving. They stayed with him until he felt settled once more, still hurting but more hopeful.

Days after that were easier. Not good, never good, but bearable. He still woke up in the morning expecting to feel Jaskier, warm and soft in sleep, next to him. He still hoped to hear his voice, singing in the evening, bundled up in blankets and fur, utterly ridiculous but all the more lovable. But the memories were not cold slaps anymore. They were a reminder of what was waiting for him down the line. A reminder of what he was still here for, what was still holding him together. The only hope that kept him functioning. He pushed on, waiting.

When the snow started melting, anxiety built up in him. With every new puddle of ice thawing in the training court, it grew. He’d impatiently expected spring, but now that it was around the corner, he just wanted it to all to stop. The anticipation was just too much to bear. Because what if he did not come back. What if his powers had transferred to someone else. What if he stayed dead. 

Faced with the imminense of the answer, Geralt just wanted it all to stop. Best to remain in his current limbo of doubts than to be faced with the truth of Jaskier's death. 

But time kept on going and, one morning, a single crocus bloomed near the main gate. Time had come. 

He went to prepare Roach only to find that Vesemir had already done it. His old teacher handed him the reins and his pack with a nod before seeing him out. His brothers were also at the gate and offered to accompany him but he refused. He wanted to do this alone.

The ride was a long one and he did not rush it. He stopped on the way, picking flowers here and there, building up a small bouquet. He arrived late in the afternoon. He walked to the meadow, leading Roach behind him. There were still clumps of snow dotting the ground but green blades of grass had started to grow back. 

Geralt spotted the patch he'd laid Jaskier on right away. Small golden buttercups covered the whole thing, swaying slowly. He walked up to it and kneeled, laying the bouquet on top of the patchl He brushed his hand against the soft petals. Warmed by the afternoon sun, the flowers tickled his palm. 

Hope blossomed in his heart. These flowers growing right here could only mean one thing. But he hardened his heart just in case, closed his eyes and decided to meditate, to center himself.

Before he could get in too deep of a transe, a soft rustling brought him back. Dirt was moving under the buttercups. Small clumps rose, upturned, crushing some of the flowers as they rolled over. Geralt had to stop himself from digging up whatever was moving, digging his fingers in his tights. He didnt want to risk ruining anything and so just watched. 

The dirt kept on cracking and moving around a second before it stopped. Geralt tensed, holding his breath. 

Then the whole patch raised with one last push. Jaskier sat there, surrounded by the few buttercups still left standing, no blood in sight. His eyes were still closed, he did not move. 

The bard suddenly took one huge heaving breath, straigthening up, but kept his eyes shut. 

'Jaskier ?'

Slowly, as if waking up, Jaskier blinked once, twice, eyes unfocused before meeting the witcher's. Geralt realised right there just how much he'd miss the cornflower blue of his eyes. Jaskier barely had a second to smile softly before Geralt literally tackled him back to the ground, holding him tight, hiding his face in his lover's neck, breathing in his earthy scent.

'My darling, my love, I'm here, I'm right here.'

Oh gods his voice, his beautiful voice. Geralt realised he was shaking when Jaskier forced him to lift his face to meet his eyes. 

'I told you. I told you I'd come back to you.'

Geralt nodded jerkily. He dipped in and capture Jaskier's lips in a searing kiss, finally, finally feeling alive himself once more.


End file.
